


riding your fears

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Driving, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Racism, police mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: The drive between Boston and Samwell is a liminal space. It’s a little corner of almost perfect. Almost good enough to let years of pain and metaphorical slaps in the face ebb away.So of course Dex has to fuck it up.





	riding your fears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torkz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torkz/gifts).



> this is for someone who always makes me smile about a ship we're both ambivalent toward and a boy who deserves everything

Derek doesn’t let anyone drive his car, ever. The exception obviously being his family, but the car is technically theirs. He’s always willing to offer people rides when his schedule allows. 

But under no circumstances does he let people just borrow his car. Ransom gets it, and so does Foxtrot. Lardo asks once and takes it back before he can even say no. 

Some people don’t get it. 

C didn’t get it at first. Derek’s all but given up on reasoning with Bitty. He says no and sends him away with a begrudging frown, ignoring whatever thinly veiled guilt trip comes his way. 

William Poindexter, in Derek’s opinion, has got to be the thickest, most self-centered white boy he’s ever met. So maybe Derek tells him a couple (hundred) times that he can drive Dex to the hardware store but he’s never touching his Prius. That doesn’t mean Dex has to drive his car back to campus after winter break their sophomore year, grumbling the entire time that he can barely afford the gas it took to get it down there. 

Derek doesn’t comment on the expensive watch Dex got for Christmas. Or the way Dex uses cologne when he can’t find his deodorant like it’s cheap. He doesn’t point out that Dex isn’t in the habit of going hungry to save money. That’s not a hill he wants to die on. 

Logically, he figures that the two of them will spend less time together. Dex uses him for lots of things, but most of all rides off campus. He mentally prepares himself for their somewhat stable truce to crumble into ambivalent avoidance. 

He doesn’t expect Dex to show up at his dorm the first day of classes saying they need to go into Boston for baklava. He didn’t even know Dex remembered the word for baklava. He doesn’t expect trips to Boston to become a regular thing. Or that he’d get the nerve up to change Dex’s questionable taste in punk to educate him on the finer points of rap. 

He doesn’t expect the look of baffled awe when Dex really listens to Doo Wop for the first time in years. Like he’s waking up from a coma, and Derek’s the first person he’s seen in years. 

The drive between Boston and Samwell is a liminal space. It doesn’t have the history of being dysfunctional d-partners nor the chaos and bluntness of the streets of a city Derek once used to get away from shitty classmates...still uses to get away from shitty classmates. 

It’s halfway between where he was stuck and where he wants to be. Somehow, Dex is the one taking him along for the ride. It’s a little corner of almost perfect. Almost good enough to let years of pain and metaphorical slaps in the face ebb away. 

So of course Dex has to fuck it up. 

They’re stuck in traffic on a Thursday afternoon going back to campus. They have a scrimmage in three hours. Realistically, they’re cutting it close. But Derek’s not letting unnecessary anxiety get to him. Dex, on the other hand, is seeping so much anxiety and impatience Derek could cut through the tension in the car and put a heaping pile of it on top of caramel macchiato. Dex bounces his left leg so much it shakes the car. And that is starting to get on Derek’s nerves.

“Dude, chill, we’ll get there on time,” Derek says.

Dex rolls his eyes. “Don’t, start with that.”

He shrugs. “Fine, whatever.” 

Dex rolls his window down, sticking his head out into the cold February afternoon. Even with his thickest scarf on, Derek can feel the air biting at his cheeks. 

“I’m pulling into the shoulder,” Dex says. 

“What? Why?”

“It’s the only way we’re going to get there on time.” 

“Poindexter, seriously—”

“Just trust me this once, ok?” 

Dex gives him those soft pleading eyes that only come out when he thinks it’s a life or death situation. It’s a bad idea. There’s a reason Derek never drives in the shoulder. But since Derek is a sap who believes in more second chances than people (most of all Dex) probably deserve, he swallows thickly. 

“Fine,” he says as calmly as possible. “Your car, your move.” 

Dex is normally a very meticulous, careful driver. But more than anything, he’s impatient. Derek expects him to go just under the speed limit, or slightly more. He doesn’t expect Dex to go twenty five over the limit while cars next to him honk. 

In his peripheral vision, Derek sees a flash of blue. He sinks lower into his seat. 

“Slow down,” he says. 

“No, we’re making good time,” Dex argues. 

“You’re being reckless.” 

Dex snorts. “Says the guy who drives with his arm sticking out the window.”

“Dex, seriously—”

“We’ll be there in thirty, relax—”  

“I will when you slow down!”

Dex grunts, ignoring him. He grips the steering wheel harder, driving faster likely out of spite. 

“You’re going to get us pulled over,” Derek hisses. 

His heart is beating faster than a mile a minute. He’s read a thousand cliche lines about dying of a broken heart. Dex is so sure of something he can’t begin to understand. A wave of misplaced guilty becomes tangled in the swirling uncertainty blooming in his chest. 

He wonders if it’s possible to die of a ruptured heart—beating too fast for mere mortals to contain in their weak vessels.   

“So?” Dex asks. “Why do you care if I get a ticket?”

“It’s not about a fucking ticket would you just—fuck listen to me and slow this car down,” he insists. 

“Would you stop shouting?!”

“You’re gonna get me killed! Some fucking cop is gonna pull us over and shoot me, is that what you want?!” 

Dex slams his brakes so hard, Derek’s seatbelt knocks the wind out of him. They’re stopped on the side of the road twenty minutes from Samwell. Dex is glaring at him with his eyes blown wide. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Really, Dex, are you that fucking dense?” he says, shaking.

Dex leans back in his chair, staring at his lap. He adjusts his grip on the wheel. 

“Apparently,” Dex murmurs.

His eyes roam over every inch of Derek for a minute. For some reason, Dex tries to touch his knee. Derek doesn’t notice his entire body is vibrating with fear until he’s practically jumping away from Dex’s touch. Normally, this would start an argument between them about how Dex would interpret that action as disgust. Instead, he shakes his head, turning on his signal to merge back into traffic. 

Dex puts on the 90s radio station they both like. He calls the coaches to tell them they can’t make it to the scrimmage. It takes the most infinitesimal amount of anxiety off Derek, but it helps him breathe easier. That’s what matters.

Neither of them say a word until they get back to the Haus. The game is still going on. It’ll be another hour at least until people start coming home. 

When he steps out of the car, Derek gasps for air. His feet tremble underneath the pavement of the driveway. Dex comes around to his side, signaling him to follow with a nudge of his head. Derek, stupidly, complies, following him up to Chowder’s room. They kick off their shoes, and sit on his bed together because that’s what they do whenever they’re here and the reading room feels too cold, too vulnerable. Derek melts against the wall, flinching slightly when Dex puts a Sharks’ blanket ontop of him. 

The silence is a comforting caress of reassurance. It murmurs to Derek like his mom would after every riot or shooting. 

“You’re safe, I’m safe, we’re safe. We’ll be ok.” 

He imagines her saying this, unaware of the tears tracking down his face. 

Eventually, Dex puts on the playlist they listen to when they’re hotboxing with Chowder. They always do it in the bathroom, never a car. 

C gets it. At least someone does. 

“I’m sorry,” Dex says finally. “You don’t—I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” Derek mutters numbly. 

“I’m really fucking sorry,” he says, a little quieter. “I should’ve known better.”

Derek wouldn’t argue with him there. “Yea, you really should’ve.”

“I’m sorry—”  

“Whatever,” he says, clearing his throat to get rid of the tremor in his voice. “Can we stop doing this? Please.”

“...doing what?”

“This...you can’t just like...pretend you care because you fucked up ok?” Derek says, clenching his hands underneath the blanket. “It’s just like, messing with my head.”  

Dex lets out something between a yelp and a gasp. Almost like a goose getting run over.         

“Of course I fucking care about you,” Dex whispers.“You’re my best friend.” 

Derek laughs harshly. The way Dex is frowning tells him he isn’t amused. 

“Why would I spend all this fucking time with you?”

“I don’t know, because you’re kinda sadistic and impulsive,” he speculates. “Like, what the actual fuck Dex, where in the literal years we’ve spent fighting was I supposed to figure out that you ‘care’ about me?”

“I just assumed—it was implied ok?”  

“No, don’t ever fucking assume that shit with me.”

“Nurse—”

“I don’t know, ok? I miss half the conversations people try to have with me because I think they couldn’t be talking about me,” he confesses. 

Dex gets a soft, somber look on his face. It’s enough to make Derek’s throat constrict violently. Maybe he’ll choke on his own vomit, who knows. That might be preferable to all of...this. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“Since when do you ask?” 

“You’re upset, of course I’m going to fucking ask. I’m not a monster.” 

Derek chuckles quietly, biting back an easy chirp. He nods, scooting over the slightest amount. He doesn’t expect Dex to wrap an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his chest. They’re the same height. But sometimes, when he gets it, Dex has the capacity to be larger and warmer than the sun. 

“I am sorry. You deserve to be safe,” Dex says after a while. “You’re more important than hockey. Always.” 

Derek knows that logically. But his cheeks tingle in the same breath that his vision gets blurry and wet. 

“Keep telling that,” he murmurs into Dex’s collar bone. 

“Ok.” Dex hugs him a little tighter. “I’ll try harder.”

Sitting on Chowder’s bed, being held by Dex, oddly makes him feel safer than he has all day. It’s not perfect, but Dex keeps murmuring they’re ok. 

It’s a little corner of almost perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> fic title-- lyrics from Rollercoasters by Tank and the Bangas (because this song makes me emo and reminds me of you)


End file.
